


Requiem

by sansos



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Japanese National Team, Tags for chapter 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:46:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25265557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sansos/pseuds/sansos
Summary: He was a prisoner of a mistake from his childhood, a mistake that had stolen you from him. The rain served as a constant reminder of what it had cost, though it seemed he had forgotten that the rain would also wash it all away.
Relationships: Kageyama Tobio & Oikawa Tooru, Oikawa Tooru & Reader, Oikawa Tooru/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 45





	1. Requiem

Somewhere buried in the depths of his memory was a particular scene that he was able to recall in vivid detail. A scene where the two of you —still barely in elementary school at the time— stood outside the school waiting for the bus. It was raining that day, and though you had an umbrella, you chose to leave it in your bag, favoring the hood of your jacket and the slight chill imparted by the rain as it fell onto the material.

He remembered offering you his umbrella, the one so big it could easily fit two underneath, but rather than the anticipated acceptance of the invitation, you had opted to reject it instead. You had rejected the offer, telling him to use it to cover himself because you loved the rain. You loved the stark contrast between the cold drops of precipitation against your body’s warmth, you loved the sound of the raindrops hammering down against your hood, and you loved the unobstructed view of the world through your eyes in the absence of the looming umbrella.

He couldn’t say why he remembered this specific memory in such clear detail, but he remembered it nonetheless.

“Why do you like the rain so much?” He had asked you, to which you had widely smiled and answered him with eager excitement. And yet, while he remembered everything so perfectly that he could recreate the entire setting in his mind, the one thing he couldn’t remember was your answer.

And how he wished he did sometimes. The sight of the rain had always brought upon the resurgence of the memory, as if both the universe and his mind had joined together to mock him for his forgetfulness. As if the world was mocking him for letting go of something so innocent and so pure —as if jesting at his naivety.

So he hated the rain. Because it reminded him of how he had forgotten your answer, your voice, and you. He hated the rain because it reminded him of you.

So it came as no surprise to him that it was raining today as well.

Clinching the win in the third set right as the score went into a deuce, Karasuno had beat Aoba Johsai in the semi-final, snatching the ticket away to progress onwards towards the final of the Spring Qualifiers and effectively shutting out the dreams and the efforts of the third years who stayed on for a final chance to defeat Shiratorizawa.

“Oh how I hate the rain,” he mumbled to himself as he closed his eyes, forcefully exhaling the breath he had unknowingly held onto. “It’s as if the sky thought it wasn’t humiliating enough I lost to Tobio.” He ran a hand through his scalp, loosening the tufts that had started sticking together from the moisture of the rain.

“I”m gonna eat fifty milk breads from that new bakery in town,” he huffed, though despite the childishness of the remark, Oikawa’s lips stayed drawn tight in a frown. He leaned his head back, letting the rain splatter onto his face and allowing the coldness to numb his frustrations. He found his mind drifting to you. You always liked the rain.

_It’d be nice to share milk bread with you_ , he thought.

_But you didn’t want to see him again after what happened all those years ago._

You had lashed out at him when you found out, walking up to him and forcing him against a wall with such uncharacteristic wrath he swore he saw the burning fire of anger fuelled by the coals of disbelief and fury in your eyes. Your eyes that had previously been filled with nothing but happiness and excitement whenever they landed on him.

“You did _what_ to him?” You had demanded so loudly that your voice had ricocheted off the walls of the alleyway between the gymnasium and the school, echoing your cries of rage across for all to hear.

Iwaizumi had stood by, trying to reason with you and calm you down with mutters of “It’s alright, he punched me instead,” and “Kageyama wasn’t hurt,” as well as pleads of “Oikawa, can’t you just apologize?”

And yet, Oikawa stayed silent as your grip on his shoulder tightened, your nails digging deep into the material of his jersey. He couldn’t apologize even if he wanted to. His mind was a blank, and it was if he had lost all grasp of language in that very moment. He couldn’t even find it in him to look you in the eyes, the guilt of his actions chaining his eyes to the ground instead. 

“(l/n), please, he’s apologized,” Iwaizumi had coaxed, placing a hand on your back as if to soothe the beast that had awoken. You had obliged, releasing the brunet from your hold as you backed away, but not before sneering “You will never show your face to me again” as you walked off.

He sighed again as he let the rain soak through his jacket, the penetrating cold bringing his mind back to the present. He wondered if this was the justice that the world had decided upon him for what he had done. The punishment of the actions spurred by his jealousy and frustration being to have you ripped away from his grasp forever.

He let out a pained chuckle. _If only I could ask her if she wanted to get milk bread with me._

Because true to your word, you had disappeared the day after you graduated from junior high.

All traces of you had disappeared —as if you had never existed in the world. He eagerly scoured the campus grounds for you on his first days at Seijoh, but his searches would always turn up empty. He never saw you around the neighbourhood anymore —not at the mall, train station, nor the secret spot in the park that only the two of you knew of. Your family had moved as well, and while he asked around, no one would ever tell him what he wanted to hear.

The thought of you going to such lengths just to avoid him had left a cursed wound in his heart —never healing and ever present. While he had gotten used to the torturous affliction over time, the pain dulling over until his heart felt numb, it seemed as if the sight of rain would unravel it all and intensify his aching.

“If you don’t get out of the rain soon you’re going to catch a cold, Tōru.”

Oikawa’s head snapped over to the voice that had suddenly appeared next to him. The owner wore a white blazer and a purple skirt, and was holding up a small turquoise umbrella to shield him from the onslaught of the rain. Disbelief glazed over his eyes, and he quickly moved his hand up to clear his vision, rubbing the uncertainty away to make sure his mind wasn’t playing tricks with him again.

“…(f/n)…?”

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

Oikawa looked up, glancing up at the pattern lit up by the fragments of light that managed to penetrate past the fabric of the umbrella. Your umbrella was small —it was only meant for one person, much unlike the one he had offered to you that day at the bus stop. And yet, here you were, shielding him with it while offering yourself to the beating of the frigid droplets in his place.

He looked back down and chuckled, his usual grin plastered wide on his face.

“So you’re part of Shiratorizawa’s ridiculous cheer squad too?” He found himself asking, searching around for a possible conversation topic. It was hard —it’s been so long since the last time the two of you spoke. It felt as if he was talking to a complete stranger rather than an old friend. “Is your boyfriend on the team? Did you come to cheer him on?” He continued on in a teasing manner, his eyes carrying the weight of his heartbreak disappearing behind the guise of his smile.

“I came for Tobio.”

“Dating a younger man, hm? Must be nice to date a genius and everything,” he laughed.

“I’m not dating anyone. I came because he asked.”

Oikawa glanced over at you, his smile faltering for a sliver of a second as his eyes darkened. He shrugged. “The sentiment’s the same. He got you to come. I didn’t even know what school you went to all this time.” He looked away. “You hurt me, (f/n). It hurts to be hated by you.”

An uncomfortable silence settled in the distance between the two of you, and Oikawa snorted. He had held on hope that his words would have provoked you to refuse the claim out of politeness, but his worst fear had been true: you had indeed truly hated him after all.

“Is that how you think I feel?” You asked, looking up at him with pleading eyes, a slight twitch at the corner giving away the fight you had been battling to keep your tears at bay. Oikawa looked away. If he didn’t make eye contact, perhaps he could tell himself that this interaction never took place. Perhaps he could convince himself that this too was just his imagination playing tricks on him.

He took a step forward to walk out from under the umbrella, but a hand shot out to grab onto his arm, pulling him back underneath to where he would stay dry and protected.

“Because that’s not true,” you continued, gazing right up into his chocolate brown eyes with such conviction and yearning that Oikawa found his voice stuck in his throat unable to reply. He simply stared back, searching for something —an answer, a teasing remark, a joke, anything would have been fine— within the depths of your eyes.

“Come on, let’s get you inside and dried,” you chided, pulling him lightly over to the door by the side of the stadium. He stayed in place with his feet planted firmly on the ground, and while he had refused to let you drag him back inside, he had lowered your hold on his forearm to where his hand was instead, lacing your fingers with his.

You looked back, and your eyes then stared down at his hold on you.

“Was this why you said you liked the rain? Because the freezing cold numbs the pain?” He found himself asking, his voice quivering and raspy.

You looked back up at his face, your brows frowned in such confusion that Oikawa found himself resisting a chuckle. You shook your head, and took a step closer to him as you tightened your hold of his hand.

“No, it’s because it washes it all away.”


	2. Reprise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter isn't a spoiler for 402, this is just me pushing forward my Oikage reconciliation agenda.

Kageyama lightly groaned in pain as he rounded the corner of the long hallway, rolling his neck as his hands reached up to gently massage the tight knots in the area. Perhaps his captain was right: perhaps he had been overdoing it at practice lately and should take it easier with the Games now just weeks away. It would be a shame, after all, if he were to be injured right beforehand and miss out on the opportunity to play the game he loved the most against the best the world had to offer.

A memory bubbled up into his consciousness —a remnant from his days in high school when he was still trying to come up with the falling toss and had sought the advice of the person he had respected the most. It was a memory where he had bumped into Oikawa Tōru and was taught that resting was part of training as well.

 _Oikawa_ …

If Oikawa caught wind that he had overdone it at training again, the chances of him getting benched for next week’s practices were probably as high as Ushijima was tall. Kageyama sighed again. He made a mental note to cancel his plans to practice with Hinata and Tsukishima to properly rest over the weekend.

“Huh? An umbrella? I don’t know, but if it’s not in my bag I can just use my hood,” a familiar voice broke out from nearby. Kageyama looked up and saw a man in a red jersey rustle clumsily through his bag with his phone sandwiched between his head and shoulders across the hallway. 

“Huh? Nah, a little rain never hurt anyone. You should know,” the man merrily laughed as he zipped up his bag and untucked his phone from his shoulder. From the distance that he stood at, Kageyama couldn’t quite make out who the man was, and as such, had decided to walk past pretending not to see him to avoid the awkwardness that would definitely ensue if he were to greet him. Besides, it would probably be rude to interrupt someone when they were in a call anyways.

The setter strolled past the man in red with eyes fixated straight ahead, but to his surprise, the man with the familiar voice waved a red clad arm into his periphery and had called him out by name.

“Oh, Tobio-chan, wanna say anything?”

In the midst of a whirlpool of confusion, Kageyama obediently turned his head towards the voice in an oddly robotic manner, meeting the eyes of none other than the captain of the Japanese National team himself —the very same man who had been nagging him to be more aware of his condition just earlier today. He opened his mouth to greet his senior —it was the polite thing to do after all— but found that nothing but air passed through his vocal cords, failing to produce any sound.

“Are you dumb? It’s (f/n), sheesh.”

Kageyama blinked, then nodded, still in complete silence as he reached out a hand to receive the phone handed to him, managing to squeeze out a muttered word of thanks near the end. His captain rolled his eyes with his hands on his hips as he watched Kageyama place the phone against his ears with quiet complaints of “He looks like he’s seen a ghost,” and “You’d think he’d be a little more happy to see me” childishly thrown around.

“Hello, (f/n)-senpai? Yes, it’s Tobio,” he said into the receiver, finally regaining his ability to converse is proper human speech.

“Hey, Tobio, you doing OK?” You greeted from the other end. Kageyama nodded, but then quickly mumbled a “Yes…” when his captain shot him a questioning look with a raised eyebrow, gesturing at the phone to remind him that you wouldn’t be able to see a head nod.

“That’s good to hear. Make sure you’re resting well, alright? Mostly because I’m sure Tōru would bench your ass if he found out you overdid it.” A cackle followed the statement, and the speaker cleared her throat before resuming. “Resting is also an important part of training. Remember that.”

“I will, otherwise Oikawa-san would be mad,” he responded straightly, a rare smile growing on his face. It’s only been in recent years since they had been both recruited onto the national team that Oikawa had finally relented and took him under his wing. It was nice —the feeling of having someone watch out for him behind his back— it reminded him of his high school days and the reason why he loved the sport so much to begin with. 

The said man just rolled his eyes and huffed, whining loud enough for the both of you to hear about how he was simply doing his job as the captain. You laughed as Kageyama thanked you for the advice and bid you farewell before disconnecting the call.

 _Simply doing his job as the captain, huh?_ Kageyama handed the phone back to Oikawa as the thought crossed his mind. He slowed his pace down as the two of them walked towards the exit, staring at Oikawa’s clothed back. What would it have been like if he had accepted the invite from Seijoh? If he had played on the same team as Oikawa in high school?

_Would their relationship be as it was now?_

He moved his eyes away from the brunet and focused them straight ahead, staring outside of the sliding glass doors at the entrance of the training center. The overcast sky that had peered over his head when he went in for practice today had succumbed to the enticement of the rain, the showers so heavy that it seemed as if the city roads were being cleansed of all sin.

_No, everything happened for a reason._

“So, have you asked her?” He asked, breaking the silence as he fumbled around his bag for his umbrella. He noticed Oikawa’s eyes widen by just a fraction of an inch from the side by reflex before turning around to the other side and scoffing.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Kageyama could feel a vein pop from the side of his head as he fought the urge to rub his temples in irritation, suppressing the exasperated sigh that was begging on its knees to come out.

_No, he’s your captain. Don’t be rude._

Oikawa may have been the charismatic captain who was able to restrain and keep the ragtag monsters of the team together even in the toughest of situations when he was on the court, but off the court, his childishness rivalled that of a grade schooler at times. How Iwaizumi managed to deal with his stubbornness for so long Kageyama had no idea, but the man had his utmost respect for managing to pull off the feat nonetheless.

“You know,” Kageyama gestured knowingly, pointing at his ring finger, “the thing that you asked me to help you measure.” In most cases he would have given up on the matter —it wasn’t worth the effort in trying to force an answer out of someone who was so obviously trying to dodge the topic. But not this case —no matter what, he needed an answer out of Oikawa. After all, he was the one who enlisted his help in the first place.

Oikawa remained tight-lipped and silent, casually shrugging as if Kageyama had spoken some alien language he couldn’t comprehend. He maintained his vow of silence as he zipped his team jacket up to the very top, tucking the collar over his mouth.

“Oikawa-san, your face literally matches the color of our jacket, you know,” Kageyama pointed out as he unfolded his umbrella while waiting for the man by the door. 

An uncomfortable silence lingered in the air, with Kageyama, who was patiently waiting for a response from his senior, and Oikawa, who was frantically thinking of some witty quip to justify his flustered appearance, both contributing equally to it. Oikawa loudly groaned as he dropped down on the floor with a loud _thud_ , effectively ending the silent battle and regaining access to his vernacular.

“What if she says no?” He asked, looking up at the younger setting in front of him, “What if she never forgave me for that mistake back in junior high? What if she thinks this was all just a big mistake?”

Kageyama crouched down to Oikawa’s eye level and raised a hand in front of his captain’s forehead and delivered a flick. “You idi—,” he found himself instinctively spewing out before quickly correcting himself, “—Oikawa-san.”

His captain glared at him as he clutched onto his forehead, grumbling under his breath about how his shitty underclassman had dared to flick _him_ of all people.

“This,” Kageyama began, pointing a finger towards the other side of the glass door, “would be what would happen if she thought it was a mistake, wouldn’t it?”

Oikawa simmered down and glanced in the direction as instructed. He gave a slow nod, as if granting the darker haired man permission to continue on with his point. “You already know her answer, so what are you waiting for?” Kageyama asked, reaching out a hand to pull his old upperclassman back up onto his feet.

The brunet let out a quiet chuckle, resisting his underclassman’s pull on his hand and stubbornly remaining on the floor before throwing his head back and erupting into a roar of delighted laughter much to the surprise of Kageyama.

“You know, she said something similar back in high school.”

Kageyama looked at Oikawa, who had since gotten back up onto his feet and was dusting off the dirt from the floor. It was fair to say that his message had gotten across, but he couldn’t come up with a reason to explain why Oikawa had started laughing just now. Was it possible that his captain had hit his head?

“Oikawa-san… I—“ he started, voice laced with traces of concern, but was cut off when Oikawa grasped onto his shoulders to give him a firm shake.

“Just needed that reminder,” he said, moving his hand down to push his junior on the back towards the double doors. “Oh, don’t worry, I’m fine,” he chuckled when he noticed the worried look Kageyama was giving him. He pulled on the hood of his jacket, draping it over his head as he walked through the doors. “Come on, we gotta beat the traffic rush still.”

“Oikawa-san, don’t you have an umbrella?” Kageyama asked, opening his own as he stepped out of the building to trail behind the brunet who was now on the side of the road flagging down a taxi. Oikawa looked behind, having finally managed to flag down a cab, and shook his head with a smile —a genuine one rather than the usual one he kept on for appearance’s sake.

“I like the rain.”

Kageyama nodded, deciding that the jacket was good enough to protect the older man from catching a cold as he walked over to the other side of the taxi.

"Thanks, by the way.”

Kageyama looked over, perplexed, at Oikawa from across the vehicle’s roof. “Thanks for what?”

“For knocking some sense back into me,” he laughed, his eyes crinkling from the size of his smile. “But Tobio-chan,” Oikawa continued, pulling open the car door as looked over at the said man with a mischievous glint in his eyes, “you’re still paying for the ride.” He cackled evilly to himself as he slid into the seat and slammed the door shut, leaving Kageyama still standing, completely and utterly bamboozled, outside the car with his hand on the door handle.

“I thought we were going to split the fare this time,” Kageyama protested once he regained his senses, quickly closing up his umbrella and sliding into the seat next to Oikawa.

Oikawa rested his finger against his chin with his eyes closed, acting as if he was deep in thought. “Did I say that?” He asked after a pregnant pause, head tilted innocently at his friend.

“Yeah, that’s what you told (f/n)-senpai last week at dinner,” Kageyama huffed. In all honesty, he should’ve seen this coming. Oikawa and his conniving ways never changed even in adulthood.

“Hm…” Oikawa hummed in amusement as he watched Kageyama’s brows knit closer and closer together. “I’ll pay,” he started, carefully monitoring the expression on the blue-eyed man’s face, “on the condition that you help me figure out how I’m going to propose.”


End file.
